


Lovely Demise

by whenitcounts33



Series: New Beginning [3]
Category: Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Bella is a goddess, F/M, Mates, Rowan is my son now, Sassy, he's a little kinky boi, mention of death but nothing graphic, shy first meeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:02:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27805777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenitcounts33/pseuds/whenitcounts33
Summary: Bella meets her mate for the first time“Bella,” she corrects him, holding out a small, pale hand. When his hand touches her it’s like electricity zings through his whole body and it’s like his hand had been created to hold hers and he knows, right then and there, that this small vampire, Bella, owns him. Owns all of him and he’ll spend the rest of his existence proving that some mortal like him deserves a goddess like her.
Relationships: Bella Swan/Original Male Character(s), Riley Biers/Victoria
Series: New Beginning [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032243
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Lovely Demise

**Author's Note:**

> All characters except for Rowan belongs to Stephenie Meyer

If you had asked a 15-year old Rowan where he thought he would be at the age of nineteen he would have said college. USC, like his parents, studying pre-law and becoming a member of Pi Kappa Alpha. The reality of a 19-year old Rowan? A vampire. A blood-sucking, fangless, sparkling-in-the-sun vampire. Not even a cool vampire like Dracula, no Rowan sparkled in the sun and his eyes were ruby red and his throat constantly burned. Like he swallowed bleach. And he couldn’t forget the burning, like his whole body had been on fire.

The worst part? He didn’t look the same, it was like someone had recreated the burned husk of his body and made him better, sharper. Even his skin was different. Bone white, hard like marble. Sure, you could still tell that he was bi-racial, his curly hair and eye shape made it known he wasn’t supposed to be white, but still. He liked knowing that he couldn’t pass as white, that his suburban white mom had to live with the fact that she had a dark-skinned, half-Mexican son. He grew used to the dirty looks his neighbors sent him when he played with their white children, the sneers when he spoke in Spanish out in public. When he played _Bachata_ and _Banda_ music. He loved when his dad came to visit him and bought _pozole_ and _tostadas_ and _mole_ and _elote_ and they watched awful _telenovelas_ and his mom would be at work or with a friend and it would be just them.

Then night-time would come around and he would have to leave, leaving his son there with a mother that tried so hard to bury his Mexican heritage. She even gave him a fully Irish name, after the grandfather that died a few weeks before he’d been born.

Then that awful night came along, and it didn’t matter if he was half-Mexican, if the kids gave him side-eye, if his father showed up this time early or late. It was only burning and then a hunger that never really went away and eyes that scared him every time he saw them.

Another vampire, with pale hair and cold eyes, is the one that turned him. He made sure Rowan knew the rules; don’t let the humans see you unless you were planning on draining them dry. After that, he had let Rowan leave, running away so quick Rowan thought he was flying.

***************

He was in Sitka, Alaska, population 9,000. Or at least he’s right outside of Sitka. It had taken him five-minutes before he found something, someone, to eat. A middle-aged man that cursed at the waitress from a diner that accidentally dropped his cup of coffee on his table. It hadn’t taken a while for Rowan to choose him.

Rowan sighs, dropping the dead body on the ground (population: 8,999) and stepping back from it before wiping his hands clean on his jeans and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his shirt. The body had been done before he’d been but the burn in his throat was manageable now. Enough that it didn’t bother him as he picked the body up and slung it over his shoulders and began to walk away, humming under his breath as he went.

He buried the body under an old hemlock, murmuring a quick prayer for the lost soul whose blood now pumped through his body. He hated this, hated hunting, and having to kill people, having to drain them dry, bury them under a tree with an unmarked grave that only he knows about.

He remembered going to church when he was a child, the pastor droning on and on about denouncing the devil from your life, about embracing God. Rowan lets out a snort and runs both hands through his hair, shaking his head. Oh, if that pastor could see him now. He’d go running and lock himself in the church to never be seen again. The thought made Rowan smile sardonically and he started walking away before his thoughts could get any darker.

He made his way into town, hands shoved into his pockets and got to the small bed and breakfast that he was renting a room in. Only eating rich people had its perks, he had $3,000 in his pocket now from that last guy and $600 up in his room. He kept his cap low over his face, shadowing his eyes and hurried up to his room, locking the door behind him. He tossed the cap onto the nightstand and shrugged out of his clothes, very careful to not use any of his strength. The amount of clothes he shredded during his first month of this new life was astounding. He was strong enough that he knew he could stop a tank in its tracks and hold it. It had been exhilarating but now he was bored with it, with this half-existence.

***************

Rowan passed through the trees, moving slow enough to pass for human. He was hungry and the only thing close enough with a heartbeat was a herd of deer about a mile from him. His nose wrinkled at the smell, damp and earthy. It was disgusting, but blood was blood, and he was miles away from any type of civilization and he didn’t want to wait for a lone hiker.

So, he hunted and ate the deer and gargled ice-cold stream water after to get the taste out of his mouth. The breeze picked up suddenly, making his dark curls fly around and his clothes ruffle. With the breeze came an unfamiliar, mouth-watering scent that had him turning towards the direction he thinks its coming from before he can even think about it. Jasmine, lavender, and lilac. Rowan took in a deep breath, letting the scent invade his lungs and held it in, closing his eyes. He wanted to, no _needed_ to, find the reason for the scent, like something had grabbed a hold of him and was tugging him along.

He allowed the feeling to drag him along, knowing he was going the right way when the scent kept on getting stronger and stronger. His mouth was full of venom now and he was starting to grow nervous. Was this a person? Or just a big patch of random flowers in the middle of the Alaskan wilderness? “Guess we’ll find out the hard way,” he mumbles under his breath. He wanders along another mile and then he can hear it, whoever the scent belongs to, walking around. The steps are too light to be a man, and too fast to be a human. Plus, his senses are going haywire, telling him to guard his back, to protect himself from some unknown threat.

A vampire, then. Of course.

Then he catches sight of her and if his heart still beat it would have stopped dead in his chest. Right in front of him is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. Her skin is bone white, like his, but on her it looks more natural, so she must have been pale as a human. Her hair looks thick and heavy, a deep chestnut color, and falls to her waist, slightly wavy. She has a heart-shaped face and big eyes, framed by black lashes and a small, button nose that he wants to poke. He looks at her eyes, and frowns at the color, a mix of red and gold and soon gets distracted by the sight of her mouth. Pink and full and slightly pouty and wonders if they are as soft as they look and if she tastes as good as she smells. Her neck is long and slender, and her chin ends in a delicate point. She’s short, no more than five-five, and slender.

A goddess, really, if he’s being honest with himself. One he wouldn’t mind worshipping for a few hours, or days, if she’d let him. She glances up suddenly, lips quirked in amusement and a pleasant warmth starts to build up in his stomach, traveling up and through his whole body. She looks right at him and he’d blushing and stuttering out an apology if he was human. But he’s not. So, he stands up straight at his six-foot-three height and smirks at her. He takes pleasure in the way her eyes widen, and she bites at her lower lip and damn, he really wants to worship her now. And be the one biting her lip. And that beautiful neck of hers.

“It’s rude to stare you know,” her voice is soft and sweet and musical, and he’s reminded of his church’s head choir girl and how her voice could make any one cry. His smirk widens and he saunters over to her and feels giddy when she has to tip her head back to look at his face.

“Kind of hard not to stare at a face this beautiful, doll,” he drawls, and grins when he hears her sharp intake of breath, her eyes soft and amused and awed.

“Bella,” she corrects him, holding out a small, pale hand. When his hand touches her it’s like electricity zings through his whole body and it’s like his hand had been created to hold hers and he knows, right then and there, that this small vampire, Bella, owns him. Owns all of him and he’ll spend the rest of his existence proving that some mortal like him deserves a goddess like her.

“I’m Rowan,” he says and when she smiles at him, all giddiness and adorable shyness, he’s more than ready for the rest of his existence.


End file.
